After the Fall
by Arianne Night
Summary: Going off the Disney movie, it begins the same way, then different events fall into place. May I apologize in advance, for I am unable to work on it at the current moment, and find it doubtful that I ever will. -Sigh- I wish I could.
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

The prince sat high atop his throne, gazing irritably down at the old woman cloaked in wool, who stood on the lowest stair. Silence reigned in the room as he waited for the hag to speak first. Impatient eyes darted over the elaborate reception hall.

It was the finest castle in all the land—more of a palace than an actual castle—and as such, had been built and furnished by only the best. White pillars spiraled to the ceiling, high above their heads. Crafted of solid marble, they were unrivaled throughout the world. The floors were made of slabs of marble as well, and had been polished to such a high degree that the prince could see his reflection in it without bending down and squinting.

His eyes swept disdainfully over the red carpet laying over the floor. Red did not match his eyes, nor did it go with the marble. It should have been blue. Yes, definitely blue. Besides, this red carpet was not nearly fine enough, and now that the hag had soiled it with mud and leaves, he would be forced to send for another. His lip curled in distaste. She was trying to make him spend money, wasn't she? The tax-payers would come crying to him about it.

Lightning flashed through the stained glass windows, casting multicolored shadows. Thunder boomed. He loved the sound of rain; it was comforting to him.

"Your Royal Highness," grated the hag. Her voice sent chills racing up his spine, though they had no strength for a return trip. She neither curtsied nor bowed her head. This infuriated him greatly. He was to be addressed as "Your Majesty" and shown the proper courtesy.

Her beady eyes rested on his face. He could hardly bear to look at her haggard old features. What a horrid nose! So long and—Goodness, was that a mole on the tip?

"I desire shelter from the storm, and I have—" here she withdrew a magnificent red rose from her tattered sleeve "—this rose with which to pay."

As he stared at the rose, a sneer crept over his face. "A rose in exchange to sleep in my resplendent palace?" Disbelief and haughty pride colored his tones an ugly shade of bloated self-importance. "Get out of my sight!" he commanded.

"I ask you to reconsider."

The prince was thoroughly irritated with her rusty voice creaking within his earshot. He stood and started down the steps regally, as far away as he could get from her as he descended. Gesturing for her to leave, he decided to retire to his chambers. Dealing with peasants always wore him out.

"Do not be deceived by appearances. Beauty is found within," she warned him.

"Guards! Throw this witch out!" Contempt was engraved on his features; he had obviously made that expression many times before. Upon reaching the last stair, he halted. The woman was… _glowing_.

Her hunched form straightened and lengthened; her hooked nose, toothless mouth, and beady eyes melted into the ageless face of a beautiful enchantress; her simple linen dress and woolen cloak spun themselves into a gown of emerald green. A golden circlet appeared on her brow, a wand in her hand. The previously offered rose floated in midair between herself and the prince.

Only then did he realize his mistake. The rosy color in his cheeks drained away, leaving him with a pallor of ash. Still, he held his ground and asked condescendingly, "Why have you come here?"

"I have looked into your heart. There is no love, only greed and hatred," she answered. Her voice, once grating and harsh, was now the song of angels. Waving away his protests with her free hand, she stepped back and rose into the air.

The prince grew nervous as she began an intricate enchantment.

"You will remain a terrible beast until the day comes when you learn to love, and are loved in return. The servants in this castle will be changed as well. When you break the spell, all will be returned to its rightful state."

She gestured across the hall with a broad sweep of the rod in her hand, sparks flying to swirl around every object and person. Transformation causes much pain; all fell to the floor, gasping and writhing.

As the prince collapsed, he demanded through clenched teeth, "If I am so terrible, why do you tell me how to break it? Why not make it last forever?"

"Even the bad deserve a second chance. It's whether or not they learn to be kind and repent that matters." With that, she vanished in a flash of blinding green light.

It would be days before he awoke, and he would be alone in a cold, dark place.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The Beast stalked up and down the length of the Great Hall. He was in one of his fouler moods. Yet again, in he didn't know how many years, he cursed that beauty who had ruined his life. What had he done to deserve this horrible fate? "Lionel!" he roared.

A magnificent stone griffin stepped from behind a pillar once made of marble. Since that day, it had been composed of shiny, black rock that was all too easy to see one's reflection in—a daily reminder of the curse for all. The griffin was indeed moving rock, but made no sound other than the shuffling of stone feathers and claws clicking on the cold, black floor. He was iron gray except for his shining blue eyes. Lionel had the talons, head; and wings of an eagle, and the back legs, haunches, and tail of a lion.

"I've done nothing to deserve this!" the Beast insisted. At least, that's what he tried to say; his mouth wouldn't open. His jaw was locked tighter than a rusted-shut visor on a helm.

The griffin knew it would be futile to mention that a lie may not be told in a griffin's presence. "Your Highness, if I may," he began in precise, clipped tones.

"Yes?" The Beast unclenched his massive jaws.

Lionel, putting aside his misgivings, decided to risk his master's anger. "Since I am a griffin now, no one is able to tell a lie when I am nearby, not even myself. I don't and won't even try to lie; to mislead someone with a falsehood is unthinkable to my mind."

His master was impatient. Sweeping aside the words, he asked for what seemed like the millionth time to hear exactly what the enchantress had said. Large muscles swelled and bunched beneath the ugly, brown hide. He looked ready to slaughter someone, but perhaps that was just because he was a fearsome beast at best. Those minotaurian horns upon his head were long enough and sharp enough to skewer someone. It would be quite easy for him to harm someone of simple flesh and blood.

Lionel repeated the words, with a small trace of annoyance and despair. "Therefore, you must fall in love with a girl, and she must love you as well."

"Cursed, me! The best—" Again, his jaws clamped shut. He ignored the pitying expression on his advisor's face. "Some prince I turned out to be," he fumed.

"Prince Erik, perhaps you would be interested to know that we have a visitor—"

"_What?!_" the Beast roared. "Where? Where is this visitor?" Imagine! The very _nerve!_ Someone entering his castle unannounced and without his consent! Not only that, but they couldn't simply throw the person out—they had to come bother _him_ about it! The servants would cater to this unwelcome person, they'd seat the intruder in his dining hall, in his seat most likely, and serve the so-called visitor all of his favorite dishes. How dare the impudent little fool try to take his place!

"Your Highness, please wait a moment." Lionel placed his talons on the Beast's shoulders to restrain him. "He says he has a daughter. He came in because he was pursued by wolves and lost his horse. Dreadfully cold out there. Please let him stay for one night. He promises to leave in the morning."

"Do you remember what happened the last time there was a visitor who asked to say?" Erik growled, shoving past.

"What came about occurred because you turned her away. Perhaps, if you let this stranger stay, the curse might be lessened. The enchantress might think you're improving and remove the spell or help you to break it. If not, he might convince his daughter to come and break the spell! Please, let him stay."

"I'll give him a place to stay: the _dungeon!_"


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

After Lionel had seen his master to bed, or should he say "lair," he slipped down to the dungeon. The prince had only _suggested_ everyone stay out of the dungeon. "No one is to go down there on pain of death" was merely a_ friendly suggestion_. He was failing to convince himself.

He faltered on the stairs and barely caught himself. He wouldn't be killed until after the curse was lifted; you could hardly behead or hang a griffin made of stone. Besides, if things worked out as planned, His Majesty would be more lenient because Lionel disobeyed his orders to break the curse. Of course, he wouldn't have to worry about that if he didn't get caught. He _wouldn't_ be caught.

He walked on his hind legs awkwardly down the dank corridor to the cell into which the elderly man had been callously thrust a few hours ago. Lionel didn't want to make any unnecessary noise, and took great care to be silent. At the door, he whispered, "I beg your pardon, sir. Are you awake?"

"I am now," came a trembling voice from the darkness. "Who are you?"

"You may call me Lionel. I am a friend, and I am here to make you a deal."

"What kind of deal?" the poor man asked wearily. His pale face appeared at the bars in the wooden door. His eyes sparked briefly in recognition.

"Your freedom in exchange for your daughter."

Tears ran down the man's face. "No," he said softly. "Not my daughter. Never. I couldn't do that to her."

"I give you my word that she would be well treated. She would never be harmed."

"How do I know you'll keep your word? Someone else might injure her." The man moaned. His face disappeared, and Lionel heard the door creak as he rested his weight on it. Lionel himself leaned against the door. How was he to convince the human that his daughter would be perfectly safe?

At last, after long moments of consideration, he said, "She will not be harmed in any way. If she is, I promise she will be examined by a doctor, and escorted home to you. You'll receive some sort of compensation. I doubt very much that she will be hurt here. Please do this for me." The griffin's voice was almost begging, pleading.

"That Beast would eat her alive," the man said without much energy. It seemed he was resigned to his fate.

Lionel sat back on his haunches; the floor was like ice beneath him. "Though I can not promise that her feelings will not be hurt, or that she will not fall down and hurt herself, I ask you to believe me when I say no one in this castle will intentionally harm her. Please," his voice was low; he was afraid to be heard, "let her come here."

"I'll never see her again if she does, will I?"

"It cannot be said for sure. Ask her. Let her make her own decision. I'll help you out if you promise to ask her."

He shuffled around inside the cell, uncomfortable. "What if she doesn't want to come? Will you find us and bring one of us back here? Will she have to stay in this cell, or any other?"

There was a silence. _I can't lie to him, but then he will have no motivation._ Lionel pondered this difficulty. "You don't have to force her to come. She will have her own room, a very nice one, farther up in the castle. I don't think I will come after you, but I can't say for certain what my master will do." Another silence. "If you would like, I can risk coming down again tomorrow night, so that you'll have some time to think it over. You can give me your decision then, if that is your wish."

"There is no need," the man said, shivering, after a brief hesitation. "I will ask her. I do not think it likely that she will come, but I am not certain. If I may, what would she be doing, and how long would it be necessary for her to stay?"

Lionel butted his head against the door. Had he been down here too long? Was he going to be caught? This human was asking too many questions—questions that he hadn't prepared for. "She would… be keeping the master company, maybe teaching him to dance. He is lonely and needs an intelligent and stimulating companion. He needs someone… who will talk to him, and prepare him for what lies ahead." He hoped that was convincing enough for the man, but cryptic enough to disguise that what his master needed was a sweetheart, of sorts. "I suppose she would stay until the master releases her; maybe a few weeks, maybe a few years."

The face appeared at the bars once more. "What lies ahead?" he asked.

Lionel hoped the old man hadn't seen the flicker of irritation that flitted across his face. Hopefully, he wasn't in the practice of reading the surface emotions of griffins. "Who can say?" He altered his voice to sound mysterious. "Who among us knows what might happen in the uncertain, twisting future? Perhaps he wishes to find someone with whom he can spend the rest of his life, and he needs your daughter to teach him how to treat her." He didn't mention that the "_her"_ he wished to find was possibly the daughter.

The man was silent. Had he guessed that his daughter was going to be the someone with whom the master might spend the rest of his life?

"I will ask her. I promise."

What a day. Belle collapsed on her bed face first with her newly-acquired book in hand. If her father hadn't needed to leave for the fair, she might have had a longer talk with him. She hoped he would win first prize for his invention. He'd be crushed if he didn't, and then they'd move again just as she was settling in.

She had gone into town to return the book she borrowed. The bookkeeper had told her there were no new books in since yesterday. Such a kind man! He had insisted that she take her favorite book and keep it. Then a rogue sheep tried to take a bite out of her hem, and she nearly fell backwards through a window trying to avoid it.

Belle read her book all the way through town, when, at the last building, she whirled around. Everyone turned away as if they were trying to pretend they hadn't been openly gaping at her. Somehow, she got the feeling they were calling her "odd." It must have been that they were French. Yes, that was definitely the problem. Her friends in Denmark, where they had lived when she was a child, had always remarked that one should never say something like that in public. Those good old days… before Papa had gotten into the mildly annoying habit of moving every other year, or more often if the chosen location proved to be unsatisfactory.

Then, she'd nearly bumped into Gaston and that unpleasant nobleman Édouard Rousseau. Why a seemingly nice fellow like Gaston would even tolerate that fop was beyond her. She'd been perfectly civil, of course. Édouard was confused when she politely refused the offer of lunch at his manor, but some brainless girls in town began giggling and flirting with Gaston and diverted his attention. An excellent and well-timed distraction, she told herself as she slipped away. Unfortunately, Gaston's sidekick LeFou noticed her creeping into the shadows and made a great fuss; Édouard muttered something to Gaston, who promptly conked LeFou over the head with one fist, needing no second urging. Both returned to listening to the praise and flattery that was being bestowed upon them, Gaston with some impatience, Édouard with rapture.

Well, it was getting late; she'd better go lock up the house. As she reached the front door, she heard a loud whinny. "Felipe?" she asked herself. "Father wouldn't be home this soon." She pulled open the door.

"Belle!" her father called as he ran up the stairs onto the porch, his dark brown hair was disheveled and his appearance wild. "There's not a moment to lose! I need to ask you a question! Promise me you'll say 'no'!"

"Papa, what on earth are you talking about?"

"We took a wrong turn in the forest—"

Belle sighed. "You didn't make it to the fair?"

"Well, no." He took her hand and led her into the cottage, closing and bolting the door behind them. "I came to an old castle in the woods. It was awful! Wolves nearly ate me, and if it hadn't been for that gate—"

"Wolves!" Belle cried. "Papa, what—"

"There were a couple of talking objects in the entry," he continued as if she hadn't said anything. He seated himself by the hearth, telling her, "The clock didn't want to have anything to do with me; he hoped I would just go away. Cogsworth, I believe he was called."

"Hold on, Papa, a talking _clock_?"

"Yes. The other was a candelabrum by the name of Lumiere, who was most kind to me."

Belle's eyes narrowed, and she questioned most concernedly, "Papa, are you delirious? You're soaking wet. Talking clocks and candlesticks?" It sounded like something she would have read in a book, only in a book it would have been funny and entertaining. _He must be ill. Oh, dear._ She'd have to fetch a blanket and help him up to bed, and heat up some of the stew from her dinner.

"I most certainly am _not_ delirious," the elderly man replied indignantly. He removed his cloak as he spoke and hung it up to dry near the fireplace. He kicked off his thin boots and attempted to warm his icy fingers and toes. "They invited me—well, Lumiere did—to warm up by the fire, and served me tea. It was delicious. Then, all of a sudden, an enormous Beast stalked in and dragged me off to the dungeon!" He jumped to his feet, shouting, "But he didn't get my goat yet! Not ever if I can help it!" Maurice, pausing in his act of defiance, peered around the room, as if he were searching for the Beast.

"I don't know how long it was until a griffin made of rock came down and offered to let me free if I asked you a question. It only matters that I ask you, not what the answer is." He assumed his usual, sad demeanor. "Please say no." Perhaps his strange behavior was the result of lying about in the dirt somewhere, battered by rain while his fevered mind was tormented with visions of beasts lurking nearby, waiting for a chance to leap upon him.

Belle guarded her expression carefully. Poor, poor papa. What traumatic experience had he been through to bring on this fit of hysteria? Had he truly been in an enchanted castle? She decided to humor him. "What question?"

Maurice took a deep breath. "The griffin wanted me to ask you…" He trailed off, looking as mournful as she could possibly imagine him to be. He continued shakily, "to take my place at the castle."

She gasped, and he quickly pleaded, "Belle, don't go! I love you, and I don't want you to be hurt! That monstrous Beast would devour you in one bite! Why would he want a girl at his castle except for that purpose? The griffin said you were to teach his master how to act around a lady, but how much truth could there be in that?"

"Papa, what did the griffin say would happen if I didn't come?" Belle queried cautiously.

While she considered his response, she rose and fetched a blanket for him. If she was to go, he would have no one to care for him, and if he fell ill—No. If she took good care of him—and she would—while she made up her mind, he would be just fine. After all, he had done all the cooking when she was a child; he had plenty of blankets and firewood, a roof over his head, and everything he needed for another invention, even if others called them "crazy contraptions."

The griffin wouldn't pursue them. The Beast's motives and reactions were unknown. Papa wanted to move right away, but that would do his health no good.

Her interest was aroused by this supposedly enchanted castle. Her life was so dull, and the castle promised her adventures and excitement—like something she would read in those wonderful books from town. Cooped up in a little cottage in the countryside was not the life for her, not when she could be in a magnificent castle at the heart of a wild forest. This Beast needed her. Perhaps she could teach him how to waltz. Did they have a library? They could sit together and read in the evenings—provided that he could read and talk with her. Of course he'd be able to. If a castle had animated objects that should have been _in_animate, it would be ridiculous if the Beast couldn't talk. Belle wondered where he came from. Had he come from some other country? Had he been a Beast all his life?

By the time her father had finished the argument she hadn't been listening to, she had made up her mind. She would go.

Maurice began to cry. No matter how she pleaded with him, he refused to let her go. "Papa, I'll be fine. I don't want you to be harmed. The griffin said _I_ wouldn't be, but you already know that the Beast would kill you. Griffins don't lie. If you returned instead of me, he'd toss you into that cell again."

"Belle, there's no way of knowing that this creature was a griffin; I could have been mistaken. Did I even see it? I'm not sure anymore. Ohhhh…" he murmured, looking a bit feverish.

"Papa, go upstairs to bed. I'll take care of Felipe. We can talk about this in the morning." She headed toward the door, frowning at his despairing cry for her not to leave. "I said, we'll discuss this in the morning. I won't leave yet," she assured him in a firm tone. And she wouldn't leave just yet. She had no intention of traveling through a dangerous forest in the middle of the night with no sleep, and no supplies.

———————————————————————————————————————————-———

The Beast put down his magic mirror. "I suppose you were right, Lionel. The girl _does_ want to come."

"Of course," the griffin sniffed.

Erik stalked back and forth across his bedchamber, considering. "Have the servants prepare her room at once," he ordered. When his advisor reminded him that it had been prepared years ago, and had assiduously been kept immaculate, he responded, "Prepare the castle for her arrival."

"The castle is completely prepare, milord."

A growl rose within the Beast's throat. Were they _trying_ to make him feel useless? With no authority? Lionel was certainly doing a good job of it. The griffin backed out of the room hastily, seeing his prince's anger.

"Are you going to bathe, Your Highness?" he asked quietly.

Why would he ask such a stupid question? Beasts, as a general rule, do not deliberately enter a pool of water unless they need to swim to catch something. Then again, if he was to make a good impression, it was necessary to look as good as possible under the given circumstances. No girl would desire a life with an unclean, reeking, filthy… What on earth was he thinking? He wasn't all that dirty. Was he?

"Oh, I suppose so," he muttered unhappily. Erik hoped he wasn't going to regret this. A _bath_. What was the world coming to?


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Couldn't keep quiet, could we?" Cogsworth glowered at Lumiere, his second hand ticking rapidly in fury. "You had to open your big mouth, invite him in, serve him tea. 'Sit in the master's chair,' you said. 'He won't mind in the least.' You slack-jawed idiot!"

"I never told him that! How you exaggerate!" The candlestick jumped off the table. "Why don't _you_ answer the door from now on? I was trying to be hospitable. Before you intervened," he said indignantly, "and drew the master's attention, I found out he had a daughter. If you hadn't interrupted, perhaps I could have found a way to get her here. We only have a year left, and you just want to sit here and rot, doing nothing to help!" He was quite bitter on this last sentence, but that was to be expected after having to endure so much from Cogsworth for so long.

Cogsworth hopped down after him, incessantly plaguing him with a never-ending stream of insults, mockeries, and put-downs. It was only when they passed by a convenient window that a curtain found its way betwixt Cogsworth's open jaws and forced his tirade, quite literally, to become muted.

Lumiere, by the time his unwanted companion managed to rid himself of the offending drapery, had gained several yards, and was well on his way down the hall to the servants' quarters. Perhaps if he could lose the clock in the numerous passageways and corridors, he would finally get some peace and quiet. He needed some time to think over what had happened last night. Had his decision been a wise one?

A mighty roar came from the direction of the master's quarters. Lumiere, changing his destination point, and, losing his chance of being freed from Cogsworth's presence, went bouncing down the hall with the clock scurrying along behind as best he could, trying to catch up. By the time they reached the room that was being aimed for, Lionel had already closed the door.

"What happened?" asked Lumiere after a slight pause taken to light his candles once more.

Lionel summarized the events of the previous night, leading up to when he informed the Prince of his deal with the prisoner. "And, looking into his mirror, he found that the daughter is willing to come, and is no longer… quite as angry."

Lumiere glanced briefly at Cogsworth, who was completely exhausted after his sprint to the master's room and was currently lying unconscious on the floor. He must have been in terribly bad shape. "Poor fellow," he commented. Then, "What type of girl is she?"

"Well, let's see… She likes books, she knows how to dance…" He thought for a while, then listed several dances, with pauses in between. "…and the waltz. She has a very patient and caring nature—"

The candelabra interrupted, "How do you know all this?!"

"I know if something is a lie before I try to say it, so the things that are not blocked must be true," he explained. Lumiere thought that was ludicrous, as well as impossible, but soon understood exactly as he tried out all sorts of falsehood and half-truths. Eventually, he found that opinions such as "That's ugly" or "It's beautiful" weren't affected unless "I think" or something to that effect was present in the statement, and it wasn't truly that person's opinion.

Cogsworth awoke when Lumiere was giving Lionel the example "Cogsworth is annoying" as opposed to "Cogsworth is annoying to me." He then tried "Cogsworth has annoyed me since I met him," which didn't work at all.

"There was that one time at Christmas when he wasn't _overly_ vexing, I suppose."

"_Overly vexing?!_" Cogsworth exploded. "Let me tell _you_ about annoyances and irritants, you pompous, paraffin-headed peabrain!"

Lumiere made a horrible face and obnoxiously imitated the movement of Cogsworth's mouth with a candle and candle-holder that served as a left hand. Lionel viewed their antics with amusement. They soon bounced away down the hall, yelling at one another. Lionel would have to do something about those two before the girl arrived, even if they _were_ vaguely hilarious.

The Beast stalked across his private balcony. Once, his head struck the rail when he didn't turn quite soon enough; he began a terrible roar, then recalled what Lionel had said. He swiftly snapped his jaws shut, thinking, _I wonder if it will work. If I start acting less… ferocious? Am I _really _ferocious? No matter. If I start acting differently now, will it be somewhat more natural when she is here? How could anyone love a Beast? She'll probably be a beautiful young girl, and I'm a—_He broke off. When exactly had he started thinking this way? It was so odd; sadness mixed with the tiniest bit of lingering anger and bitterness. Is this what it was like to feel despair? He had never before known it.

A fresh wave of anguish swept over him as he gazed out over the forest. Would she want to walk outside in the woods? Would she want to walk with him? Was she beautiful? He doubted he could ever love a girl who wasn't even pretty. His old train of thought was returning, and with it, some strange feeling he couldn't quite pin down.

He hadn't the foggiest idea how to fall in love. Was it something people did voluntarily? Would it hurt? _Stupid, idiotic moron,_ he thought about the enchantress. What a ridiculous way to end a curse. How could she possibly expect him to just find some girl and get her to love him? How would he bring himself to love her? She wouldn't be a princess, not even a noble. No dowry, most likely. What could he possibly gain by this love thing? Would he have to marry her to break the spell, or could he just love her for a bit then send her home?

A knock sounded at his door, shattering the silence. "What?" he asked irritably.

Lionel, from outside, informed his master that a girl had been sighted riding through the forest even though the sun had not yet risen. "I believe it is the girl from the—"

The Beast threw open the doors, growling, "I thought she was coming _later_, after I _sent for her_." They were doing it _again_. No one ever asked for his permission anymore, as they should have been doing all along. Not waiting for a reply, he stormed past the griffin and ran down the hall, his claws catching on the carpet all the way. He dragged it as far as the Grand Staircase, then hurled it over the railing in a fit of rage.

He leaped across to the stairs, and, upon reaching the front entrance, sent a mighty roar into the courtyard. The Beast bounded over the cobblestones to the castle wall, his claws sinking into the cracks between the stones as he climbed. From one of the towers near the North gate he watched her draw nearer. One of the few benefits of being an animal instead of a human was the improved eyesight, which he now took advantage of to see her face. She was _beautiful_.

He sank down to the cold stone floor; the region in which his heart resided was aching. His blood raced, pulsed, and yet… he felt powerless. If this was love, he didn't think he wanted anything to do with it, but something compelled him to accept it. He heard her voice at the door of the castle, introducing herself to Lumiere and Cogsworth. _Belle._

Erik felt as if he was floating through the air instead of lying on hard, icy stone that sucked the heat from his body. He came suddenly to himself. _What was he going to say to her?! _It had been so long since he had been forced to address someone with a title and make polite conversation. Did she already have a title, or did he need to make one up for her? Did she _need_ a title? What if she was one of those peculiar folk who despised titles?

His furry brow wrinkled in worry as he considered this most distressing matter. Slinking off to his room was definitely out of the question—they would come looking for him if he stayed away too long, and what if he hadn't thought of something to say to her by then? In the meantime, no one knew where he was, and since he had never come to the gate towers before, there was a very slim chance they would seek him here. On the other hand, what if someone had seen him dash out to the tower?

"I know," he told himself in a low voice, "I'll sneak up to a window, see where they are and what they're doing, and base my decision off of what I learn there! Brilliant!" His mind was flooded with thoughts and unformed plans—my, but it was wonderful to have human intelligence! Who needed superior sight and hearing if one could _think_ their way out of a difficult situation? Maybe being a beast had dulled his mind powers, but they were coming back nevertheless! Perhaps being a human wasn't so terrible after all.

But he wasn't human, not anymore. He'd just have to think about that after he'd found a better place to hide. He peered around cautiously as he emerged from the tower, and slowly crept along the ramparts until he found the stairs—he didn't want to make any unnecessary noise. As he made his way inch by inch to the castle, trying to convince himself he wasn't crawling like an animal, he began to wonder what on earth he was doing.

"I shouldn't be afraid to walk around in my own domain," he soliloquized. "Why am I doing this?" To get to the tower across the grounds, he would be forced to pass close beneath the windows in the dining hall, or go along a much lengthier route sticking nearer the wall. "Oh, come on," he muttered to himself, "Who's watching you? Just sneak by, even though no one will be there to notice."

He got to the third window before he heard their voices. Frozen, he listened. Belle was talking—she had heard him.

"Lumiere, I'm very sorry to interrupt you, but what was that noise?"

"Noise?" queried Cogsworth. "I didn't hear anything. Did you… Lumiere?" There was a suspicious pause before the name, suggesting it was not one he said often in a good light. He must have been attempting to be polite in front of the lady.

"No, I heard nothing."

She approached the window. He had been discovered! What would he say to her when she found him listening in on their conversation? What would he have said to her if he hadn't been listening in on anything? He turned and looked up into her face with what he hoped was a smile.

"What are you doing?" she asked with apparently honest curiosity.

"Why, examining the work of the gardener, my lady," he fibbed. "I must congratulate him on his fine job; these flowers are in excellent condition." _The ones I haven't crushed to powder, anyway._

Belle returned his smile, and rested her head in her hands upon the windowsill. He had rather hoped she would duck back into the room long enough for him to escape, but that was out of the question now. He had lied, she could tell. At least Lionel hadn't been around to prevent him from saying that, but in any case, it didn't matter because she knew it was a lie.

"Well," the Beast intoned. "I believe I have interrupted your conversation with Lumiere and Cogsworth, and for that I am profoundly sorry."

The beautiful young woman's grin widened as she informed him, "Oh, I thought it was rather dull, talking about dust. One can only say so much on the subject, and I believe we had hashed and rehashed it several many times already."

Dust? In _his_ castle? Lionel had led him to believe all was spotless and immaculate, and when she came in she had instantly been roped into a conversation about dust! He would have to do something about that. _Later,_ he ordered himself, making a mental note to have a nice fireside chat with the griffin.

"Really? How did that come to be the topic of discussion?" He made sure to keep his voice smooth, and managed to do it by imagining himself speaking to a duchess at a long-ago ball.

"When I entered this lovely place, I found not a single speck of dust anywhere. It was most remarkable. Seems most days you can't spend a minute indoors without seeing dust settle somewhere. Do you ever wonder what it's made of?" She had quite the intriguing personality, that was for certain.

"No, I can't say I have."

Her tone shifted to a more serious one as she asked, "What am I to call you while I am here?" The girl's patient eyes watched him as he seated himself outside of the flower bed, considering her question.

"Whatever you would care to call me, my lady." Again, he was thinking of the duchess, trying to be as polite as possible.

She shifted her weight, quite possibly puzzled at his answer. What was she thinking? "My lord, Your Highness, Sire…" She trailed off, looking a bit uncomfortable with the situation. "I doubt very much you would like to be called Beast. Perhaps, your name?" When he didn't answer her immediately, she must have erroneously concluded that he refused to give her a name. "Well, what would you like me to call you, good sir?"

"My name, Erik, will do. Unless you want to refer to me some other way?"

She addressed him directly, "Erik, that will be just fine. My name is Belle. You needn't call me 'my lady.' " He must have frowned, for she hurriedly added, "Unless that is your desire, of course."

"It was very nice to meet you, Belle. Perhaps you might join me for dinner?" When she nodded, he bid her good day and disappeared off into the gardens as if he had been on a leisurely stroll and was interrupted. He didn't quite know what to make of it. Astonished by her beauty, it had never occurred to him that he might have to make intelligent conversation to win her over. It just figured she'd be an intellectual type—beyond his reach. Hold on, nothing was beyond his reach! He was a royal after all; he would simply have to read some books in the library. He would need to have some material on hand in case she wanted to discuss something.

That wouldn't work, would it? He hadn't read in ages, and even so, he had never really sat down and studied or thought on a book. Mostly, he had Lionel read him the petitions, then he either affixed them with his seal and scribbled a flourish here, a flourish there, or told Lionel to reject it.

Had that conversation been all that intellectual? He didn't really think so, seeing as how they had merely exchanged pleasantries and names. Still, he told himself, it never hurt to be prepared, or a little cautious. It seemed mandatory to be smart and well-versed on such subjects as books—but which books? Encyclopedias, novels, or just matters of interest? He sat down on a nearby bench, wondering what he should do. Would he recognize the letters? The sounds they made?

"This is terrible," he muttered out loud as he settled himself more comfortably on the seat. "I suppose I shall be forced to search the library top to bottom for something that seems, at least, tolerable." So saying, he rose unhurriedly from the bench and set off for the royal library.

How long had he been hanging there? Hours, minutes? How he loathed heights. The Beast clung grimly to the ladder and tried once more to focus his attention on the books before him. This was supposed to be the fantasy section, yet the few books he had begun did not capture his imagination. Perhaps he needed some other subject; history, perhaps. No, that would never do. He was hardly one to sit through a never-ending, dry, humorless passage about the history of any kingdom.

He gouged the rungs of the ladder every step down with his sharp claws. Adventure was next; hopefully he would find something there to suit his needs. His train of thought was not interrupted when Belle opened the door. He was not even aware she was there as he plucked a book off the shelf at random and turned to the first page. _Odd_, he thought. _This book is about a Gascon. Who would want to write about them? What kind of a name is "d'Artagnan," anyway?_

"I like _The Three Musketeers_," came a voice from behind him, nearly startling him out of his wits.

"Oh, Belle, it's you." He hoped she couldn't tell she had frightened him; he turned away and set the book on a table. Perhaps she would want to read it, but he wouldn't offer it to her as if she was a child. "Why do you like it?" he asked, tilting his head sideways to read the titles easier.

Belle seated herself at the table, saying, "It's full of adventure and intrigue. Alexandre Dumas has quite the way with words, making it amusing as well. Have you read it?" In truth, she had only read it a few hours ago, while he had been detained by Lionel.

His hand, rather, paw, halted momentarily on its journey to pick up another book. "Not for a long time," he answered falsely. "I don't remember any of the events." He hadn't even read any of the books in his own library, and how would _that_ sound to her?

Another voice from the doorway said with a hint of trepidation, "Your Highness, milady, if I may." It was Lionel, coming up just a little too late to prevent him from lying.

"Yes, Lionel?" _Nothing is going how I want it to. What is the matter with everyone that I can't do anything without being interrupted?_

The griffin paused, until the awkward silence began to tell on his nerves. "If I might speak to you in private, Your Highness?" He glanced at Belle, unsure whether or not she would be offended. "It may take some time."

The prince exchanged a look with Belle; his unhappy, hers somewhat deflated. "Very well, Lionel. But only if it is _extremely_ important." He headed toward the door, and halted when Belle placed her hand on his hairy shoulder. Turning to her with a question in his eyes, he saw she had a query of her own.

"The Three Musketeers," she said with some puzzlement. "It hasn't been published yet."

_Drat. She's figured that out._ His response was, "These are all the books that have been and will ever be written in this world. Useful for research, not so much for pleasure, for the language will change much in time."

Lionel, watching from the doorway, thought he detected a note of gentleness in his master's tone. Perhaps it was just the words, he decided.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"_This_ is what you've disturbed me for?" he demanded furiously of Lionel. "I don't care whether or not the servants' quarters are a mess! They're the servants, why don't they clean it up? It's their job! Why come bother me about it?!!!" Storming from his room and ignoring Lionel's protests, the Beast stalked down the hall to the back staircase. Normally, he wouldn't even consider using that particular flight of stairs—after all, he was the _prince_—but he didn't really have many options at the time. Besides, to chance the Grand Staircase, he'd have to pass the library, and Belle was still there as far as he knew.

As soon as he was halfway down the stairs, he flew over the rail and raced for the servants' entrance. He was disgracing himself by doing so, but he didn't care; he just needed to escape from Lionel and his petty problems. An urgent longing for solitude could not be turned away any longer, and Erik was driven to quench it as soon as he might.

He dashed out the door and decided to make for the east gate tower, completely unaware that someone was watching him from the oversized library window. But Lionel might see him go there! He circled the castle twice, and waited until the griffin was out of sight before he scaled the wall and slunk into the tower on the left side of the gate. Hopefully, no one would follow him there and foil his seclusion.

Luck was not on his side on this occasion; it was only a matter of minutes before he heard footsteps on the wall. A low growl rumbled in his throat, unbidden. The silhouette of a human girl appeared against the night sky in the doorway.

"Are you alright?"

He snarled, "Yes. Leave me be." She didn't rush out of the tower as he had expected, instead, she knelt beside the entryway in the shadows. She remarked that he didn't sound like he was. "I am," he insisted while he moved as far away from her as was possible in the circular tower. If she tried to approach him, it would necessitate crossing the faint moonlight coming in from the doorway, and he would be able to see her.

She told him quietly, "It often helps to talk about it."

Ignoring her invitation, he crouched and wondered if he could make it to the door without the girl stepping in his path. If that happened, he would be forced to stop short, for it would be stupid indeed to tromp out his one hope for life as a normal prince. He took no notice of infinite crickets chirping in the crisp night air outside, nor the wind fluttering leaves belonging to the trees making up the great forest beyond the wall. Neither did the soothing gurgle of water flowing on all sides of the castle register in his instinct-driven mind.

"It might help you feel better."

The Beast rumbled, "I don't think it would. I've nothing to say." It was an open attempt to provoke her into leaving, but yet, she remained. _Why can't she just leave me alone? Does she think to torment me? _Then something occurred to him. _Or does she… care for me? It can't be that, for we hardly know each other and she must think me exceptionally ugly and—_this last was thought with a sardonic smile_—beastly._

"Whenever I feel unhappy or upset, I find it helps to talk to my father. Often, it helps me discover solutions to problems I did not know I had." Was she opening up to him? In order to get better acquainted or convince him to talk, he didn't know.

He heard fabric rustle against stone as she moved in the darkness. "I don't see how. Do you honestly think I have problems I am unaware of?" Belle replied that everyone must. "How am I supposed to discover them, then?" he asked. Odd, he seemed to be a bit gentler when she was near. Perhaps it was just that… no, that was impossible.

"You just talk to someone about what you recognize as a thorn in your side, and when you feel a bit better, make pleasant conversation concerning the weather, nature, relationships with other people, and such. It may unearth a problem; perhaps you are unhappy with someone around you and can't seem to improve the situation. Or maybe the weather makes you think sourly, thus affecting your mood, because you hate bright sunlight that burns your eyes. Maybe the dreary rain and clouds blocking out the light make you feel depressed because you like the light. The wind might make you cold. The snow may sting your eyes with the bright radiance it reflects. Or if all of the wildlife has vanished and you like the birds to sing and the squirrels to race up and down trees, you feel ill at ease as if something has frightened them into hiding and may try to harm you."

He contemplated the meaning of her words. "I like darkness," he said at last. "So that can't be it."

"Do you enjoy silence?"

"No, I suppose I like to know what is happening and where." He thought he heard a soft word fall from her lips, but he couldn't have been certain. Maybe his hearing wasn't that good after all. "But muted noises are alright for ongoing sounds, like crickets, as long as they aren't _too_ loud." He was a bit displeased with those crickets, as they were being rather irksome. His tone must have implied "as they are _right now_," for she laughed, breaking the tension in the air.

At her light, contagious laughter, a barely perceptible smile answered on his lips, though she could not have seen it for the shadow he had so willingly concealed himself in. "What did I say?" he asked, unable to keep the smile from his voice.

"Oh, nothing. You're wonderful."

He puzzled over this. She had every right to call him wonderful, and of course he was, but was she setting a trap for him? Or did she intend it some other way? Was she trying to butter him up? He had to admit to himself that he didn't really know how to deal with or "read" people anymore. It had been so long… Lost in thought, Erik didn't perceive that she had slowly inched forward until she was three-quarters of the way across the beam of moonlight until she reached out and touched his forearm. He startled away from her and demanded to know what she thought she was doing.

"I wanted to know if you were alright. You were so silent." Her tone held a note of genuine concern. "I didn't mean any offense, if you took my compliment that way."

So _that_ was why she had called him wonderful! She wanted to get close to him and touch him. He wasn't some animal that was to be petted, and she would have to learn that here and now!

"I am just fine, thank you very much," he snapped, the words not intended to be kind, as they normally would be. He couldn't bring himself to say more than that, however, and strode outside. Belle had better not chase after him again else he would lose his temper, and tear her flesh open with his claws. A stab of regret followed on the heels of that thought, for then he would lose his chance at being rid of the spell. She would leave, or die, and then—he felt guilt enclose him for even thinking such a thing. He didn't want to injure her.

Still sitting on the floor in the east gate tower, Belle was wondering what on earth she had done to offend him so.

The Beast stayed shut up in his rooms the entire day following that incident on the wall. He couldn't explain _why_ he didn't want to see Belle, not even to himself. Failing to convince himself that it was just because she trailed him up to the wall and barged into his nice, dark tower, he turned to the balcony and tried to focus on the scenery. He had never much cared for scenery; it somehow always fell short of capturing his attention and imagination. It was completely beyond his comprehension how some sorts could find so much magic in nature. He scowled when he thought the word "magic".

Had he been aware of just how fearsome he appeared, he would have been appalled. Unfortunately, he had no knowledge of how alarmingly terrifying his visage was to all others at the castle; always he had been of the opinion that it was beneath him to look a servant in the eye. That was all that was left: servants. How was he supposed to fall in love with a girl if he was surrounded by incompetent _servants_?

_Love must be terrible_, he told himself. _If you have loved, and are suddenly thrown out of its arms, you must feel awfully alone. Do I really _want_ to love?_ He thought back to his earlier balcony musings. Could he truly love her for a bit, then send her away? If the spell was broken, would it be reinstated if she left? Would he be able to dismiss her if he loved her?

Suddenly, he wondered if he would not be king of France. Surely some distant relation had seized the opportunity, and his crown. He would have to war for it. On the other hand… Exactly how long _had_ he been a Beast?

Lionel appeared unexpectedly at his elbow; normally this would have raised his ire, but he had an important question to ask his often-irritating advisor. "How long has it been?"

"How long has what been, sire?"

"You know," the Beast snapped. "The spell, idiot. How long has it been since we've been cursed?" He leaned on the balcony, mulling over Lionel's answer of just under a decade. He remarked satirically, "Hardly long enough, don't you think? Knowing her, it should have been much more extensive."

Lionel whispered, agitated, "Do not bring further punishment upon your head, Your Highness. It is unwise to say such things."

Erik murmured, "I feel old, Lionel. Think how long I have lived. Twenty-two years is, indeed, a very long time." He did not say he felt such a youthful-looking girl must be at least five or six years younger than he, and not of an age to be married. Though he did not disclose the thought behind the words, he must have revealed it in some way as he watched Belle below them, walking the grounds with her horse.

"Do not despair, sire."

Gently, "That will be very difficult, Lionel." He didn't know the last time he had used Lionel's name except in anger. Had he ever? Something in Belle softened him, but he was unaware of it. He felt… at peace, watching her.

As if she could sense the pressure of his gaze, Belle turned to stare up at him. He carefully raised a paw and waved to her, mildly surprised when she waved back with a mystified expression on her face. He turned to face Lionel, who was also watching him intently. He supposed he must have had a peculiar look on his face, for the griffin was sitting back on his haunches and staring at him.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Lionel suddenly became very interested in the stone rail around the balcony. His talons meandered over it as he sat in silence. Was he wondering what to say, or did he just refuse to answer?

Erik shrugged mentally and rested more of his weight on the railing. He recalled when it had been marble, beautiful white marble. Now it was of the same material as the rest of the castle: slick, reflective, black… he didn't know exactly _what_ it was. He glared at his likeness in a peculiar stone, eyes widening as the image changed. Completely absorbed in it, he couldn't feel Lionel shaking him, or hear Belle crying out his name in dismay. Everything but that one picture faded into nothingness; it consumed him. It became reality to him, and him only.

_Pain, endless pain… It tore at his side and chest ruthlessly. His hide was matted with sweat and blood. He lay staring at the knife dumbly as a small hand eased it out. Belle was beside him, pressing a cloth to the wound, tears streaming down her face as she wailed, "Oh, Erik!"_

_She placed her free hand on his cheek, clutching the long hairs. His sight was so dim her face was difficult to make out. In the background stood trees, tall and straight. The forest? He could barely feel her touch, though the pain was becoming dull. Erik's only thought was to comfort her, but thoughts were fuzzy and his tongue wouldn't cooperate._

"_Please don't leave me," she begged._

_Her words hardly registered in his mind. "You're so beautiful," he said, faintly aware that his speech was slurred. He raised a paw to her face and gently brushed back her hair, vaguely interested in the murky shapes behind her._

"_Erik, please," she moaned, her face closer now. "Do not leave me alone."_

_His arm suddenly felt very heavy, as did his eyelids. The shadows played over her features, exaggerating her expression of loss and anguish. "I love you," she sobbed, holding him as the aches diminished even more and he slipped farther away. _

_He heard his voice in the distance, "And I love you."_

"Your Highness!" another voice called. "Are you well? Is anything broken?"

He came back to himself with a jolt, and sat up, rather dazed. Lionel and Belle were alongside him, concern engraved on their faces. Massaging his temples, he managed, "Just fine. What happened?"

"You dove off the balcony, Your Highness. Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?"

"He didn't dive," Belle argued. "He was clearly distracted and off-balance, anyone could tell." Authoritatively, she informed him, "You tipped over."

Erik turned from one to the other, unsure just who to believe. Shaking off their hands, he rose unsteadily and declared, "I feel just fine, really." At least, he did until his legs gave out immediately after saying so.

"I'm still fine," he insisted stubbornly. "I was a bit preoccupied, yes, but I did not fall intentionally. Just…" It was difficult to say it. "Help me up." The two willingly assisted him to his rooms, Lionel locking the doors to the balcony "just as a precaution." No matter how the prince argued, his advisor refused to give way and allow him out there again anytime soon. Belle wouldn't permit it either, and it seemed she was determined to keep him in bed in case he was lying to them about whether or not he was injured.

This was absolutely peachy. An odd enchantment holding his mind captive and showing him his own death—well, the moments _before_ his death, anyway, and forcing him to fall thirty feet onto rocky ground; an out-of-line advisor telling him what he could and couldn't do; and his intended insisting on being his nurse when he didn't need one. He could tell this was going to be a _long_ week.


End file.
